Tim Schaefer's Blog, page 10

I BELIEVE ONLY IN GARLIC

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

It is mid morning
and some salesmonkey in Mississippi
is ringing my number
ignoring the grave warnings 
in my voice greeting

someone on the telly
implores me repeatedly
to ask my doctor about
something
and the shopping aisles
are lined with friendly reminders
to get my flu shot

they're trying to kill me at every turn

so I'm off to do my power walk
and as the plague spreads across Sweden
I believe only in garlic
and apple cider vinegar
and beets
and in the end
perhaps
like James Coburn
I believe only in dynamite

and you're still hot and heavy
for a man from your past who was
arrogant and insensitive to your feelings
a quasi musician with no real ambition
(I've read the private thoughts of so many 
so please don't feel singled out)
and I remember the night she said:
how DARE you invade my mind like that!

sorry...
my ancestors were Vikings

we live in constant dread
like quail scurrying across open spaces 


time runs down
till time runs out
and in the end
we're all just looking for something
that's more enduring than we are 

FIRST DAY OF THE POETRY CLASS I'M NOT TEACHING

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
Stop looking for the
pretty word
and start looking for the
relevant one
there are so many pretty words
blocking the sun
and the cold light of day
I'm 'bout to choke on the perfume

get over the sweet sickness
of wanting to make pretty words
and come to your senses
there are five of them
(six if you ask Bruce Willis)
and you can use them all
do ya hear me?
do ya see what I'm sayin?
are ya sniffin' out my meaning?
you can almost taste it now, right?

(has this touched you in any way?)

cuz nobody writes like you
when you sayin' things that have a meaning
and not just a sound
nobody else can do it
egg-zachly like you
and that's the beauty of it, pardner
right there

JIMMY REED HIGHWAY

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads


Saturday night
and everybody gotta be somewhere
or thinks that they do

I'm okay bein' nowhere

but if I was gonna be somewhere
I'd be rollin' down that Jimmy Reed Highway
take out some insurance
an' let 'er rip

the spirit moves
when you've nothing to lose
barreling full throttle ahead
ignoring all the warning signs
til you crash and burn
that's a tough way to go out
but a helluva ride

when the last person who remembers you dies
so do you
some romantic bullshit maybe
as Brando would say
I'm committing slow suicide
but it's better than the alternative

and the world is screaming
NO NO
we can't be lost 

And Hitler is still waiting
outside the gates of Hell
twiddling his thumbs
they've tightened up their immigration policy
as in some other places

I've played host to The Devil incarnate
masquerading in female form
his favorite disguise
according to Elvis
and my own observation

but love was easy when it was
like a jackhammer penetrating your indifference
like a lumberjack chipping away at your resistance
like a finger on your trigger
like a ditch digging its digger
like Humpty Dumpty humping all the king's horses
like the Queen Mum humping all the king's men
like a congressman with a coke bottle up his ass
like it's so damn funny I forgot to laugh

ah, but those good times
they don't last
and you're just a momentary blip
on the radar screen of existence
headed for that crash landing

no survivors

LOVE POEM

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Always hated fukken Valentine's Day
cuz you had to git all dressed up 
and show up wit a box of chocolates
under youse arm and 
take her out to dinner
and da whole bit
when what you really wanted to do 
was stay home and watch da basketball game 
in your skivvies
and to make matters worse
a couple weeks later
she ain't even wit you no mo!!!
what kinda deal is dat?

think I got out just in time man
what wit dis war between da sexes
dat's raging today
HEY
I ain't gonna study war no more
so why would I need 
some old battle-axe around???

now I be watchin' da game
and poppin' dem yummy chocolates
into my own face
finally catchin' on
finally wakin' up
to da realization 
at long long last
just how sweet life can be... 

when I'm in love wit me

MAKING ROOM

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

He was a big deal
in his chosen field
passed away suddenly
is all the obit would reveal

below was a place for comments
and condolences 
you could leave online
most from peeps I didn't recognize
they knew him professionally
all business ya know
I knew him pre-professionally
I knew him from the front steps
of the schoolhouse 
a bunch of us 8 year-olds
gathered round 
listening to him chant:
am I crazy...am I silly...
will I eat a pic-a-dilly
he was on a roll
improvising his own nonsensical rhymes
that still make me grin today

in our little movie theater
kids shouting witticisms at the screen
his voice leading the charge
we were forerunners of the Rocky Horror 
audience participation phenomenon 
(no matter that it was 
Singin' In The Rain playing)

so amongst all the somber comments
and long-winded condolences
I wrote simply: 
John will always be remembered,
to those of us who knew him from childhood, 
as the funniest kid in our class

not so good a thing
of course
to remember the dearly departed
from that far back
it means you're close on the heels
most likely

I still don't know
what this life is for
but maybe the best we can do is to
fire off a few clever lines
then get off the stage
(always leave 'em wantin' more)
to make room 
for that next joker in line 

THE PARADE NEVER WAITS

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads




In honor of the Blood Moon, I'm sharing a freebie with you from my book: Last Tango In Timbuktu.


Shelter along the covepalm fronds fretting in the windsun beats downeyes flutter behind darkened lensesno secrets revealed
Dancing in the courtyardsummer smoke and gin blossomsarms akimbo for kabukino tangosor wild gang-bangosfor the faint of heart
Along the beach lovers entwinelike snakes that strangle their preylove me a littlelove me a little moreI'm not a lollipopI'm an all day sucker
We take no prisonersnor photographs of these encountersfor pride is like a rideon a lizard's eyelidthe shutter clickswhen you forget to smile
Beyond the fire coyote waitseyes burning like binary starsin the morning he will escapewith a piece of your soul
Fair wind and a calypso beatrequiem for the summer's heatmagic spells and voodoo dollsand dead men smell no tails
Crumpled napkins with lipstick tracespedal to the metalheading for open spaces
The parade never waits
Waves pounding the shoreecho the emptinessphone abandoned in its cradlelike a waif on your doorstep
Staring into your breakfast bowl of Wheat Chexyou are reminded that you are back to square onestanding pat while the river of dreams drifts along in your eyes
Mata HariHarry CarayHowdy Doody
Peewee HermanEthel MermanPunch and Judy
It takes a villageto conduct a really good orgy
Will you stand vigil hereor will you run with the packinto the black heart of the night?
Already you see the men are restlessand the horses nervous with laughter
The time is ripeand you are no civilianin this war
Assemble your brigadewe strike at dawn

ALONG THE PATH

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads


old couples
meandering through the parkmake me smilethough I'll never be fifty percentof that kinda awesome twosome
peeps with poochesthe more the bettermovinstoppinsniffinmake me smile'specially when they choose meto spontaneously lick(the pooches not the peeps)when I happen alongthough all the lickersI've known up close and personalhave slurped their last of me
 speakin of which...
young couples with strollersmovin along the pathalways conversinganimatedlyabout somethincuz they've got a lot goin onin their worldmake me smilethough no one's ever called me "daddy"'cept a couple of flooziesback in the dayalong the wayalong the path I choose to walk alone but in my solitudethere's still some gratitudestill some reasonsevery dayto smile
cuz it finally hit me ya knowthat when I pop outta dat bedeach morninand still be hanginroundstill uprightand not uptightthat it's only by The Graceit's only by The Graceit's only by The Gracesay it againit's only by The Graceso come what mayI'll always find a reasondon't even need a freakin reasonto smile 

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads --dVerse Poets Pub

The story has been told before...
our intrepid host stops the film
described as a dream of dark 
and troubled things
for lively discussion with experts.

Essential questions we ask about life
while confronting truths
that didn't fit in with our holiday schedules.

When all hell breaks loose
as the Reptilians in the balcony
begin to shout: Bring on the crazy cat clips!

A hush falls over the assemblage
as the Lizard King's voice 
reverberates through the hall: 

Life, as you know it, is a dirty fairy tale...bittersweet at best... when our time comes, we'll drive electric cars, support compassionate causes, abolish pay toilets, and live in elaborate 
communal herpetariums! 
You grieve for irretrievable things
your whole lives long
then wax philosophical
uselessly
in a joint like this 
when that's really the long 
and the short of it

Then slowly, one by one,
as the realization sinks in,
the peeps begin to rise
and file out of the theater
in a sad and dejected looking way
as a series of crazy cat videos
seemingly endless
careen across the screen
for those still insisting upon
their full money's worth.
  

SHOUTING DISTANCE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
To kick off the new year, here's a freebie for you from my book Last Tango In Timbuktu  

The rain came before sunrise
in steady sheets
like the one I was trying
to pull over my head

I was just out of a dream
where I was whispering into the ear
of a woman who seemed to be
 my counselor
or confidante
a dream where I had speculated about
the sex of a pencil

It was long
a real woody
and it could prick you
when it's sharp
no wait...erase that

It was worn 
past the last hurrah
like a space ship
in the shape of a cigar

(And when hers was worn down to the nubbin
Sylvia Plath stuck her head in the oven)

It made so much sense to say
that I am my brother's keeper
but of course the other side had just claimed
that we'll get you to the promised land
in just a little different way

Let us fly and make our own mistakes
don't need a hand or a handout
of course that's the way where
crash and burn
 is followed in sequence by
oh shit
oh well

The rain had no intention
of letting up
as dawn's curtain lifted slowly
the new year now within shouting distance

And in the dream I was giddy
as I breathed into her ear
that I didn't know whether to laugh
or to cry

The culmination of a lifetime
of fledgling flight

Don't be concerned
if I crash and burn

THE GREAT MYSTERIES OF LIFE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

As we stand on the cusp of the new year, I'm in a reflective mood...so here's an encore presentation that I know many of you have not seen before that addresses what I'm feeling...and am always feeling to some extent. HAVE A HAPPY!



I'm cruising down to the convenience store to pick up some beerswith the words of my spiritual master ringing in my ears: You must give up your worldly attachments if you want to advance.
Pulling into the lot I spot a raven-haired goddess riding in with some biker who looks likeone of the lout-infested Vikings in that credit card commercial.

While he is distracted inside,I whisper in her ear: "What's HE got that I ain't got?" And she says..."He's got...a big...HARLEY!"
So I hop back into my car,resigned to worshipping her from afar--but my master is adamant on this point:You musn't worship something that could give you an STD.And I'm supposed to give up sex--or at least not enjoy it, if I want to be enlightened. And I must atone for a life of living fast and loose, in order to extract my neck from this karmic noose.
And I must be engaged with the great mysteries of life,as I ponder why the weather girls on the Spanish channelare always hotter than all the others...and I am picking up a Christian radio station on my television: POSITIVE, ENCOURAGING, K-LOVE!It drowns out the regular programming on my PBS channel.And I'm certain that it's some kind of sign from the cosmos--but why pick on a nice Buddhist boy like me?
Heading home, I see Kerouac on the corner, trying to wangle a ride--he's been standing there since 1955.But hard times have fallen on vagabond scribes,as "Do You Know the Way to San Jose?"gave way to One Night In Paris.But he's picking up some extra jackwriting the direction labels on shampoo bottlesin his stream-of-consciousness style...
Once upon a time in a Ford Galaxyfar, far away--I whispered empty wordsof love to Suzie, and Lucy, and Betty Jean--until...VOILA! Fourteen years of cominghome every night and saying: WHAT'S FOR DINNER?Thinking this is it--the happiness that had eluded me--as the prime of my life slowly...slipped...away.
As did she.
And I can see my mother and mestanding on the platformas the train roars down upon us--she is running away...again.And it is said that boys grow upand seek out their mothers--and so it was that I chose onewho would RUN.
And I tell my master it's easierto give up your worldly attachmentswhen there's little left to lose.And there's something about being donewith the greater part of it that turns you young.And you find yourself saying WHATEVERand you come to understand that it meansaccepting things the way they are--and you think maybe these kids are on to somethingas they shrug and turn back to their internet porn.
And yet, here I stand, cryingWHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?But Alfie's too busy scoringto offer any kind of reply,though he seems to be saying heaven can wait.
So I just want to know...can there be any compromisefor one who is other worldly, yet worldly wise?